Mindlock
by Aoiika
Summary: On the one hand, we have Harry stuck in a room with Voldemort. On the other hand, we have Harry stuck sharing a mind with Draco. Beware! Mind games are dangerous. (Further information inside.)
1. Prologue

**Introduction: **There is one room. One room, for two wizards. Not just any wizards. Two eternal enemies, two opposites…but with a lot in common.

They are in what is called a 'Mindlock'. Each has the right to one person outside of this room. One link, and no more. It is the person most important, the person whose mind is closest. For Harry, it is a surprise when he finds himself in contact with Draco Malfoy's mind. But who will be the Dark Lord's link?

This happens at the end of fifth year, when Voldemort possesses Harry at the ministry during the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore. Tom Riddle and Harry Potter are swept into an internal world, in a dark circular room. No doors, no windows, and no way out.

**Info:** I start with the scene at the ministry at the end of 'Order of the Phoenix', and then go from there. This means that I take into account everything that happened before that moment, but change pretty much everything from that point on.

* * *

**Prologue**

For a few seconds, Voldemort was visible only as a dark, rippling, faceless figure, shimmering and indistinct upon the plinth, clearly struggling to throw off the suffocating mass.

Then he was gone and the water fell with a crash back into its pool, slopping wildly over the sides, drenching the polished floor.

"MASTER!"Screamed Bellatrix.

Sure it was over, sure Voldemort had decided to flee, Harry made to run out from behind his statue guard, but Dumbledore bellowed: "Stay where you are, Harry!"

For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why: the hall was quite empty but for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under the witch statue, and the baby phoenix Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor.

And then Harry's scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance.

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry didn't know where his body ended and the creature's began: they were fused together, bound by pain and there was no escape.

And when the creature spoke, it used Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move. "Kill me now, Dumbledore…"

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. "If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…"

_Let the pain stop_, thought Harry…_let him kill us…end it, Dumbledore…death is nothing compared to this…_

_And I'll see Sirius again…_

And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creature's coils loosened, the pain was gone. Harry was lying face down on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice…

It wasn't quite ice, but almost; it was rough and icy stone digging into his cheek, his palms, his stomach and knees. It was hard and uncomfortable, but after the pain he'd just survived, it felt like a cloud sent from heaven itself.

Only it was too dark for it to be heaven, the atmosphere too cold and too hostile. Harry felt a breath like a shadow graze his hair and he scrambled upright, just remembering where he was and what had happened.

Where he was…or rather…where he _had been_.

Harry felt around for his loyal glasses, hoping that they had survived yet another adventure. A sigh of relief escaped his trembling lips as his fingers brushed against the round rims. He put them on again.

_What…_

Nothing was the same.

The room surrounding him was circular and twice the size of the Gryffindor common room but with a low ceiling that gave it a claustrophobic feel, entirely made of stone and filled with odds and ends, old furniture and non-descript objects. Not a single window was to be found. The only light present came from torches that hung at regular intervals along the stone walls in heavy brass brackets.

Harry noticed with a surge of panic that there was no door in sight.

This wasn't the ministry anymore. Dumbledore wasn't there, the statues weren't there, Bellatrix wasn't there.

But _someone_ was.

Harry felt it. That presence in the room, it was familiar. He had just felt it, in the form of a red-eyed creature. One that had possessed him and spoken through him. Voldemort.

Harry sprung to his feet and immediately sought cover, his breathing quickening once again. The ethereal shadow-like breath that he'd felt before infused the room.

"_Harry_." The voice reached him in guttural hisses. _Parseltongue_.

Harry tightened his fingers around… thin air… _My wand!_ He screeched internally, casting his eyes about him, frantically searching for his only defence. His wand wasn't there! Not in his hands, not in his pockets, not on the floor where he'd lain just a few moments before. Had he left it behind at the ministry? Had he been somehow transported to this place when Voldemort had taken possession of him?

"_Harry." _Voldemort's voice sounded again in the dark, subterranean-like room. "_What do you hope to achieve with this, Harry?_" It asked playfully, as if they were in the middle of a game of wizard-chess.

"Where are you?" Harry shouted in English, refusing to cooperate in Voldemort's game, whatever that was. But he didn't know where to direct his voice at. He couldn't localise the source of the Parseltongue. "Don't' be coward! Show yourself!" He yelled, the adrenaline from the fights and the rage from Sirius' death still coursing through his veins.

Something moved in his peripheral vision, to his left, and he whirled around and repositioned himself, so as to put a pile of what looked like stone-rubble between him and the dark-cloaked figure of the Dark Lord. It was the only defence he could find without his wand.

Harry glanced down and saw with astonishment that Voldemort's hands were equally wand-less. Those spidery white fingers Harry had seen in his nightmares as his own weren't holding the dark, yew-wood Voldemort had brandished in his duel with Dumbledore.

"_Look at me, Harry._" His eyes snapped up in response."_That's right, look at my eyes._"

The dark slits fixed on him, Harry felt his pulse quicken with fear, anticipation…and an almost uncontrollable desire to curse the man in front of him with the most painful spell he knew to exist. Because _he_ was the reason his godfather had just died for him. It was performed by Bellatrix's hand, but ultimately, it was Voldemort who was the murderer.

The slitted eyes and the green ones stared into each other head on, each trying to find something in the other, each trying to push forth their wrath, conjure the magic that needed no wand, no spell, just a burning passion to be performed.

Harry had done it before. He didn't need a wand. If he needed it badly enough, the magical energy in him would come to his help. He fumed, he was furious. He breathed loudly. And nothing came. And the more time passed, the more frustrated he became. How could it be that he was ready to sink his teeth into the man's throat and rip it out, and that still not a sliver of magic could be detected in the air around him?

The teenager was not the only one feeling this problem. The Dark Lord himself was feeling like he was piercing with his gaze right through the boy who always kept thwarting him. He had been violently rejected from the boy's mind before, and now he was trying to enter it again, searching for an entrance through the forest-green gaze fixed upon him. And nothing was happening.

"_What have you done?_" He exploded in renewed rage as he surged forwards in a flash and held the boy's throat pushed against the stone wall with his bare hands. That he had to lower himself to physical contact, _him_, the one who had cheated death, was beyond humiliating. Magical forces that no one before him had ever heard of, let alone understood and tamed, were at his disposal. And still, not a trace of it could be found in this cluttered and filthy room.

Harry coughed and gasped, his feet were dangling inches from the floor and the weight of his body was only supported by Voldemort's hand at his neck. He was slowly suffocating.

Grabbing the arm that was holding him against the wall, he pulled himself up a little for support and then aimed a kick at Voldemort's abdomen. The Dark Lord hissed and bared his teeth in an animalistic grimace as he staggered back, dropping Harry back onto the floor.

Despite the hard landing, the young wizard was back on his feet in no time and had scurried away into the labyrinth of clutter. He ran along the wall, desperately looking for the door that must be hidden somewhere.

He kept on running, his legs gradually slowing as he realized he'd already seen that old desk on three legs. And that dusty, rusted owl-cage. Hope made him push a little further. _I have to find Dumbledore! Voldemort is unarmed! He could take him! We could end it now!_

Twice now did he encounter that same desk and bird cage. And the realization began to sink in. There was no door.

This was a circular room with no entrance and no exit, with only some broken furniture and rubble to protect him from the most powerful dark wizard that ever lived. And he was stuck… without his wand, and inexplicably, without even a hint of magic.

Harry relocated himself strategically, hiding somewhere in the middle, since the room had no corners. Where was Voldemort? He hadn't seen him. Had he left? Could he have disapparated out of there?

He considered for a moment whether _he_ could try and apparate, but he had not the first clue how to go about it. He was too young to even have started lessons yet, and he'd never had the sense to ask just how one did it.

Curses that had nothing to do with magic flooded from his tongue.

_What on earth is going on?_

* * *

This was a rather short prologue. I'm curious if anyone is interested in the idea. I'll be working more on my main story for now. So if you like this, let me know, so that I can start putting more time into this one.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**A Meeting of Minds**

This room was not just any room.

That was the conclusion Harry had come to after a lengthy observation. He was crouched behind what looked like a bookshelf with all kinds of things falling out of it. But it wasn't the bookshelf that Harry was interested in. He'd been watching for any sign of that strange veil-like shadow the he could nearly see hovering over him from time to time. And each time it was present he could hear Voldemort's breath echoing from the low ceiling.

Voldemort was somewhere, he was sure. The presence that had invaded his mind earlier was recognizable in that shadow. But the dark wizard hadn't shown himself again.

Taking advantage of that moment of respite, Harry had observed the stone walls, the stone floor, the stone ceiling… Not a crack, not a fissure, not a hidden trap door in sight. But during his analysis he had noticed something strange in the flicker of the torches that gave but little illumination to the gloomy space.

The flames…They looked…odd. It was as if there was no life in them. They didn't crackle, they didn't even react to the brush of air caused by the shadow-like breath. And they moved in a repetitive way, not bouncing all over the place, but flickering in a regular manner. They reminded Harry of the electric muggle lamps that imitated the light of a candle.

And then there was the fact that both he and Voldemort seemed to be wand-less and without any other magical energy. Harry had been able to blow up his aunt like a balloon when she'd insulted his parents, but when staring into the eyes of the man who had _murdered_ them, he'd been powerless.

Nothing of it made sense.

The young wizard replaced his glasses up is nose and looked over the bookshelf once again to peek at the surroundings. He was nervous, thinking Voldemort's cloaked figure would materialize any second. But for the moment, there was nothing.

So Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and tried to remember what exactly had happened when he'd been possessed, cringing when he revisited the moment his scar had exploded with unimaginable pain. Then Voldemort had spoken to Dumbledore, in his voice, through his mouth.

Harry dug deeper, he could almost still feel the place in his mind that Voldemort had invaded, where his presence had merged with his own, where the pain had radiated from, where the coils had enclosed his mind…

_What the hell…_

Harry's eyes flew open, startled out of his meditative state. For a moment, he' d felt like his mind had been taken over again, like he'd thought words without wanting to think them.

After making sure that Voldemort's presence wasn't near him, he lowered himself back into the deeper layers of his consciousness.

_What the…what's this?_ Harry frowned. His thoughts were out of control, as if his mind wasn't his anymore. Was Voldemort still in him? But he kept his concentration this time, and stayed deeply within himself.

_What's happening to me?_ This was so strange. He had thought the question, but not consciously. It was as if he'd asked the question to himself.

Tentatively, feeling like he was going nutters, Harry responded to his own question. _I don't have a clue._

_Am I talking to myself now?_ The 'other' Harry asked. He sounded just like 'this' Harry. It was all beyond strange.

_Apparently._ Harry thought back, wondering suddenly if maybe he wasn't loony, but just dead.

_Great. _The 'other' sounded sarcastic._ How am I going to explain this to father…_

_Father?_ Harry puzzled. Was he going to see his father again? Was he really dead then?

_And mother._ The 'other' continued. _She'll…lock me up in some far-away place for mentals. Imagine…a _Malfoy_ gone off the rocker. But whose fault is it, really!_

_Malfoy?_ Harry's frown deepened as he listened to his thoughts getting stranger and stranger. This wasn't right.

For a long moment, Harry's mind was blank. No other spontaneous thoughts came to him. But he could _sense_ something…foreign. There was an intense fear, but unlike his own. It was a fear that had nothing to do with his current and dire situation. He didn't understand. But then he directed new thoughts at the 'other'.

_Malfoy?_

_Yes, Malfoy!_ The other Harry responded rather impatiently, addressing him directly now instead of just musing to himself. _I'm not going to forget my name, am I?_

_Draco Malfoy?_ Harry sent back. Surely, this couldn't be. These were his own thoughts, spoken in his own 'mindvoice'. And that fear, it felt nothing like what Malfoy should feel like.

There was another silence. And now it felt like the 'other' presence in him was probing Harry, probing at a distance that seemed to lie between them in this 'space'. _Who are you?_ The other fired at him.

Harry was alarmed now. The 'other' felt so much like himself, and suddenly so different. _Are you Malfoy?_ He asked, not believing that the answer to this could be positive.

_Who IS this?_ And in that moment that 'mindvoice' sounded so much like that snappy sharp tongue of Malfoy's, with that mean edge to it, that Harry realized that couldn't have been his own thought, even if it reached him in his own voice.

_I'm Harry…_ He trailed off, not sure what he should say. He couldn't call himself 'Potter' like Malfoy called him, could he?

_WHAT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! NOW!_

Harry almost hit his head against the bookshelf behind him as he was shocked back to the dark chamber. Nothing there had changed. The torches seemed just as unreal, the clutter around just as dusty, and a sudden new gust of the veil-like shadow passing near him made him crouch to his feet and run to a new hiding place.

"_Harry_." Parseltongue again.

Harry stopped breathing altogether, trying to keep an eye on every side of him at once. Where was Voldemort? What did he want? Why hadn't he apparated back to his loyal Death Eaters already? And why hadn't Dumbledore found him yet?

"_Harry, I know you can hear me. I know where you're hiding._" The voice had localized to somewhere on his left.

"What do you want?" He snarled, feeling his courage levels rise again.

"Why? I just want to talk to you, Harry. We're the same, you and I."

"I'mNOT like you!" Harry shouted, a little less calm than he would've liked to sound.

"_Oh but you are._" Voldemort switched back to the snake language. "_You can understand me, can't you?_"

"_That's your fault._" The dark-haired boy spat back, falling automatically into the unusual rhythm of Parseltongue. _"That happened when you tried to kill me. When you murdered my mother and father!"_ He hissed threateningly, letting his rage seep through.

"_Yes, I remember the events._"

Harry hiccoughed in surprise when Voldemort's voice was suddenly in front him, the cloaked figure just a few yards away. Jumping to his feet he made sure to put more distance between them, in case the dark wizard attacked him again.

"_Don't be so afraid, boy._" Voldemort spoke in a soft and familiar way, as if they were friends, as if they were _brothers_. "_This place…it seems neither of us can hurt the other._"

"That didn't stop you from trying!" Harry snapped, recalling the feel of those pearly-white fingers closing around his throat.

Voldemort's eyes darkened infinitesimally, the slits now fixing something _inside_ Harry. But that was all it was: a scary look. As incredible as it sounded, Harry realized his archenemy was just as powerless in this chamber as he was. _That explains why he hasn't apparated out of here yet._

_What?_

Harry froze, his eyes unfocused. _He_ hadn't thought that. That had been the 'other'. The one who claimed to be a Malfoy. The word had popped into his head as if it had come from him, but it hadn't. He knew it hadn't.

A soft and warm breeze blew over his face. It felt…moist. With a loud gasp the young wizard came back to reality and saw that Voldemort's slitted black eyes were just inches from his own. He immediately jumped backwards, and slammed with his back against something had and pointy. It cut off his airflow for a second and he fell to the floor on his side.

Two slick black shoes appeared in front of his nose, one lifting to touch his cheek with its point. Harry growled and rolled away, keeping his eyes carefully fixed on his enemy now. _Focus!_ He told himself.

_What the fuck, Potter! Don't give me orders! And get out of my head!_

You _get out of my head, Malfoy! I'm kind of busy here. _He clenched his teeth.

_What are you talking about, Potter? You're off your rocker, you are!_

Harry was aware of the Dark Lord's eyes scrutinizing his every expression, his head slightly cocked to the side. It made his blood curdle in his veins.

_Stop that, Potter!_ But Harry didn't understand what he was talking about. _You're stressing me out with your panic attacks. That's what I mean._

Malfoy had answered his thoughts, even though Harry hadn't actually formed coherent words and sent them consciously towards the 'other' place in his mind. Everything indicated that Malfoy could not only follow what he was thinking, but feel his moods too.

The reverse was equally true. Harry could still sense that foreign anxiety, the one that didn't seem to fit his own feelings, but it had receded to the background, overwhelmed by his own emotions at being locked in a chamber with no idea how or if he would ever get out again.

The option that he might be dead seemed plausible still, but that wouldn't explain why he was stuck with Malfoy in his head.

Harry fought off the urge to shake his head. He didn't want to give anything away to the Dark Lord who was still watching him intently, his hands resting calmly at his sides, but fingers twitching in his direction from time to time. It didn't put him at ease.

_Malfoy, listen to me…_ He began.

_Sod off, Potter. I told you to _get out!

Harry couldn't keep the snarl from escaping his lips. The Dark Lord reacted by moved a step forwards, and Harry followed by taking one backwards, now close to the circular wall of the room.

_I can't, Malfoy. I…_ This was the last thing that he ever thought he would say to that slimy git with his unattractively slicked back hair, and he knew that the 'other' could sense his reluctance, because he sensed smugness in return. _I need you._

The smugness exploded on the other side. Harry was tremendously grateful that he did not have to see the bastard's face at that particular moment. But the words he had spoken were the truth, however embarrassing. How long had he been stuck in this room? It had to have been a couple of hours already, and nothing had happened besides him almost being choked to death by Voldemort. He had no idea how he had come to have Malfoy inside his mind, but the slimy git was the only link he had outside of this chamber, the only hope of contacting Dumbledore.

The tricky part now was to get that bloody Slytherin to cooperate.

* * *

A quick second chapter to get things started.

Please please please tell me what you think. I'm impatiently waiting for the first reactions...


	3. Chapter 2

**Info:** I'd like to just clear up a few things. I already said that this happens at the end of fifth year, so it means that Harry hasn't yet started to suspect Draco of being a Death Eater, and he also doesn't know anything about Voldemort's past.

Except that, I just want to say: Enjoy! :D

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

**What Truth?**

_Tell it to someone who cares, Potter._

Tell it to someone who cares…that had been Malfoy's answer to Harry's plea. Harry couldn't deny that it was a perfectly predictable response. He wouldn't have cared either whether Malfoy cared or not, but the slimy git was _all he had_. It was the only person he could get to, and even then he had no idea how he'd done it.

But he wasn't going to let Voldemort know about it. Both of them being trapped without any sign of magic, it seemed to Harry like he had an advantage in having contact to the outside. The last thing he wanted was for Voldemort to notice and find a way to take that away from him.

Then again, maybe the Dark Lord had some kind of connection too. He would be good at hiding it if he had. Probably.

Harry tried to calm himself, to control his breathing, and most of all, control his emotions. His failure at Occlumency lessons with Snape was what had killed Sirius, was what had allowed Voldemort to mess with his reality. And though Voldemort _claimed_ he did not have any magic either, it might be that he was just hiding it, to give Harry a sense of false security. So Harry was _not_ going to open the doors wide to his mind for him. He would not make the mistake again of being weak, and let his feelings out of control.

Harry planted his feet beneath him and faced his enemy to keep him in his sight. He'd been standing or crouching for a long time now, and his legs were starting to feel uncomfortable. Strangely, he wasn't sleepy, thirsty or hungry; just weary of the tension, the stress, the emotions, the darkness… And worst of all not knowing what was happening to him, or what had happened to all his friends. Was Ron all right? And what about Hermione? They'd been hurt…

Harry's heart constricted, and he knew the emotion showed on his face, because the dark, slitted eyes that watched him narrowed infinitesimally. The teenager shook himself. He had to ban all emotion, all worry and anger, to make sure he wouldn't be vulnerable to the expert legilimens in front of him. It was easier said than done.

"_You're struggling, Harry._" Voldemort said with what, sickeningly enough, looked like a smile. "_You don't need to. Tell me, do you want to be free again?_"

Harry set his jaw. The sound of the snake language that Voldemort constantly used was starting to sound more and more familiar to him, and it was difficult to remind himself to keep thinking in _English_. The vague moods of mostly anger and agitation that reached him from what he knew now to be Malfoy helped a little to keep him lucid, but since they weren't conscious _words_, they didn't influence in what language he was analyzing the situation.

"_I know what is happening, and I know that the only way we can leave this place is to work together._" Voldemort explained when Harry didn't speak.

Harry snorted. "I'd prefer to rot in here for the rest of my days." He spat with grim amusement. The idea of the most evil wizard in British history thinking that he could manipulate Harry into _helping_ and _trusting_ him was absolutely ridiculous.

Another long silence ensued during which the two opponents simply stared at each other. One wary, the other scrutinizing. The young wizard took the opportunity to try again with the link in his mind.

_Malfoy?_

There was perfect stillness and quiet in the room, since not even the torches made any sound. The Dark Lord seemed content to stand, not even feeling the need to shift his weight. Still as a lifeless statue, and probably just as cold and emotionless.

_Malfoy!_

Still no response. Harry felt that the other was actively trying to block him out, to hide his thoughts and feelings from him. It meant he could hear no words, and the moods were even more vague and veiled, but they could not be entirely invisible.

"Stay there!" Harry exclaimed, for the cloaked man had made a step in his direction.

Voldemort looked amused in a comfortable way, like he was in his element. What had happened? The younger one wondered. Voldemort had been furious before when he'd attacked Harry. Then again, mental people were known to be prone to mood swings.

"Why don't you join me, Harry?" The Dark Lord began in English, understanding that Parseltongue was not making the younger one feel closer to him. "My loyal followers would be delighted to see you close ranks with us. I promise you, Harry." His voice was seductive, and it was starting to make Harry feel as if it was true what he said, as if he was wanted and needed, as if he was precious.

"Stop saying my name!" He growled, shaking his head to get the intruding thoughts out of it. Was Voldemort trying to get into his mind again?

_Malfoy, you prat! Answer me for Christ sake!_ He sent out in renewed panic. _Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy! _What was going to happen to him if he stayed in this room much longer? Was he going to start believing the Dark Lord? Was he going to be manipulated into wearing a mask and running alongside the kind of Lucius Malfoy? Hexing and torturing innocent muggles?

However, not all muggles were innocent. Vernon and Petunia Dursley couldn't be qualified as innocent. The young, green-eyed boy began to imagine what it would be like to execute the threats he'd already issued towards his cousin. What would it feel like to curse the Dursleys?

It would make him feel powerful, was the answer he came up with. The feeling of power that he'd always lacked. And he would be able to bring some justice to…

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's smile was widening as he watched the temptation filter into the Potter boy's mossy green eyes that gleamed dark in the shadows.

Stop! Harry thought as he saw that smile, and he felt sick at the direction his thoughts had taken. He swore in his head and started to back away from his opponent, not daring to turn his back to him as he sought cover, a little privacy among the clutter in the room. He needed to get away from that _snake_.

_Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!_ He repeated over and over, more determined than before after what had just happened.

_Shut up, Potter! SHUT UP! You got my father in Azkaban! Isn't that enough for you?_

The answer the blonde had given him was new, but he'd suspected that Lucius Malfoy would be arrested when the Order of the Phoenix came to help them at the ministry, in the room where Sirius died… It was surprising though that Malfoy had immediately screamed _that_ at him. That was a problem. He needed the Malfoy son's help, but the father being arrested would make things more complicated.

_Everyone has to pay for their crimes, Malfoy. _Harry sent back sternly as he crouched at the other end of the room from where Voldemort was. He couldn't see the wizard anymore, but at least he couldn't be seen either. It was a relief not to have those eyes on him.

A wave of anger and indignation came crashing through his mind from the 'other' place. Malfoy was more than just a little bit resentful.

This was going to have to happen in a different way. The issue here was that in fact, Malfoy had all the power. Harry was completely dependent on him. He _needed_ him desperately as long as he didn't find a way to communicate with anyone else from the outside world. And that meant he would have to be _nice_ (Harry gritted his teeth in his own resentment at the thought) to Malfoy.

Fortunately, his hate and distrust of him didn't run as deeply as for Snape at this moment. Malfoy may have been a fool for joining the Inquisitorial Squad, an absolute _nitwit_, but it was understandable when one took into account his need for power, for approval, for belonging in a group, for being a leader… He must've liked it very much, catching Harry and his friends in the Room of Requirement, but that didn't make him inherently evil (much to the contrary of what Ron thought), unlike Snape. Snape whom he'd _tried_ to warn about Sirius, who must've known that his godfather wasn't in danger, but didn't do anything about it because of his hate for Harry's father and his group of friends.

Thoughts of Sirius didn't fail to bring Harry crashing into a lake of blackish depression, the dark water insinuating itself into his body, intruding through his mouth and nose and seeping down to his heart and mind.

_Feeling sorry for yourself is just pathetic._ Malfoy's mean tone could be recognized in Harry's head. It _was_ Malfoy. It was still so very strange and alien to have someone talk to you through your _own_ thoughts. People just naturally assumed that all of their thoughts were their own.

Clearly, that was wrong.

_I know someone even more pathetic than me._ Harry sent back angrily. For the first time he felt like he didn't want to have the connection with Malfoy, like he wanted to shut the other out. His feelings about his godfather were private. Malfoy had no business feeling them and making snarky comments about it.

_Yeah, that mudblood you call a witch and that weasel you call a human being. Though I have to say they found their match in Longbottom and Loonyhead._

_Shut it, Malfoy, or I swear…_

_Swear what?_

Harry sighed deeply, trying not to make a sound in the quiet room. How in the world was he going to talk to this dickhead? He had never tried so hard to keep his emotions under control, but he had two very good reasons why he should.

_Malfoy, _He thought in a very civil tone, hoping the other would follow suit and rise above their childish quarrels, _you told me your father was sent to Azkaban. What else happened?_

_You know what happened! What are you asking _me_ for?_

He had still sounded mean, but at least he was giving answers. That was a start. Maybe it had something to do with that deep anxiety that seemed to be rooted into Malfoy so strongly that it was always present under the surface. Harry wondered why in the world he had any reason to be anxious. He was rich, his authoritative father wasn't going to bother him anymore (even though it hurt his Malfoy pride), he wasn't in danger from being murdered by the Dark Lord, at least not immediately.

_Clearly, I wouldn't be asking if I knew._

There was a pause. Malfoy seemed puzzled, or baffled. It was hard to read the emotions he was feeling from him. It wasn't an exact science. It was very vague and scrambled, not to mention that it was so very alien.

_Because you're here, at Hogwarts._ Malfoy answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. _The entire school was staring when Dumbledore and Hagrid carried you to the hospital wing._

Harry's heart did a little somersault. _Was Ron there too? Hermione? Anyone else?_ He inquired further.

_Maybe after. It's not like I was glued to the window all morning. Like I care what you found to make yourself interesting _this_ time._ It certainly sounded as if Malfoy would be rolling his eyes right about now.

Harry wanted to scream at him that he wasn't trying to make himself important, certainly not when he was the cause of someone's death and had risked the lives of so many of his friends. But there was something much more important that demanded his attention. Malfoy had said he was in _Hogwarts_? How was that possible? He was _here_, wherever that was.

_Malfoy, are you certain? I mean, couldn't it have been Neville they were carrying?_

_Believe me, Potter, everyone knows the difference between the _boy-who-lived_ and that good for nothing, even from that distance._ He sneered the words 'boy-who-lived', clearly not impressed with the title.

That simply wasn't possible. Harry couldn't in two places at once. Maybe the figure they'd been carrying was an illusion? Or some kind of copy, a clone? Or maybe a Death Eater who'd taken Polyjuice potion? That would explain why Dumbledore hadn't done anything to find him yet. But would Dumbledore really be fooled by something like that?

_What else? What else do you know?_ He needed to have more information. And for the moment, Malfoy seemed to be both willing to give it, and honest about it. Harry sensed no contradictions between the feelings and the words, which meant the Slytherin was telling the truth.

_The Daily Prophet is all about your little excursion in the Department of Mysteries, and the presence of the Dark Lord at the heart of the ministry. Fudge is not having such a good time, I bet._ The blonde sounded amused.

Harry winced when Malfoy used the words 'Dark Lord'. It was the name used only by the ones who admired him. And his distrust of the blonde grew along with his suspicion that he may already have followed in his father's footsteps and sworn allegiance to the dark side. It was a definite possibility.

But…he couldn't sense it in the other. He didn't feel the same in Malfoy's feelings, in his mood, in his personality, than what he'd heard in his voice, or in his father's voice, or in _Bellatrix_. He didn't feel as mean as what he usually seemed, or like someone truly bad or crazy should feel like.

_And…does the Prophet say what happened to Voldemort?_ He had to ask. If there was a double of him outside of this room, there might be another Voldemort too.

Malfoy had cringed at the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry thought he would have heard him hissing if he'd been able to hear his voice. _No._ The blonde responded. _He disappeared along with my aunt._

_Bellatrix?_ Harry tried to sound neutral when thinking the name, but he was sure Malfoy could sense the rage he felt towards the witch. He'd nearly use an unforgivable on her just a few hours ago, or the day before. Harry really wasn't sure how much time had passed now.

_Yes. Now will you tell me why you're trying to mess with my sanity, Potter? Couldn't you just talk to your babysitter Dumbledore? I'm sure he would be eager to fulfil your every wish and listen to your every whim._ Malfoy sneered.

_You're wrong._ Harry thought with another pang of resentment, recalling the entire year that Dumbledore had spent ignoring him. It was his fault too, if Sirius was dead!

Harry buried his head in his hands when he began to feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. The realization of his godfather's death, of another link to his parents, of another father figure and friend, was slowly seeping in. Every now and then, he would be hit by it, as if it were the first time he heard it. 'He's dead.' And then it came again. 'He's dead.' He's _dead._ There would no more owls, no one to tell about his problems, no one to cheer him up with stories about his father's mischief. Except Lupin.

Harry thought Lupin must feel incredibly lonely now, being the only one left of the group. And the members of the Order…they'd lost another one. They must all be grieving…

And he wasn't there! Harry felt a new kind of anger at being stuck in this room. He should be with them! He should be sharing his grief with them, he should be there for his friends who might still be in life-threatening conditions. Were they at St-Mungo's? Or would they also have been brought back to Hogwarts' hospital wing?

_POTTER, WILL YOU PLEASE CALM DOWN! YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!_

Harry hit his head against the chest behind him, _again_, and hissed in pain as he rubbed the sore spot. Why did Malfoy have to shout at him like that!

On the other hand, it did wonders to snap him out of the downward spirals he was prone to fall into. It felt oddly…encouraging. It wasn't pleasant, but it was as if someone was suddenly pulling at his head while he was drowning and brought him up to the surface. Or like a slap in the face when he was about to faint.

He took a deep breath and looked around the room, wondering if Voldemort was still where he'd left him, and mostly wondering what _he_ was doing. He'd said he knew what was going on. Was he working on a way to get out? Or was that a lie?

_Why are you pushing all your panic attacks on me? Just get out, Potter! How many times do I have to tell you?_

_I can't! Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know how! I don't know how this happened!_ Harry thought in frustration. So much time had passed, and he still had no clue what this was. Maybe he was in an unexplored room somewhere in the department of mysteries?

_Ask Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore or whoever!_ Malfoy insisted. _Just get out!_

_I can't, Malfoy! Are you listening to me? I can't. I'm NOT in the hospital wing._

Harry was aware he was breathing loudly. The sound was echoing on the low ceiling and on the circular wall, going all the way round and reaching him from the other side. Voldemort was certain to be hearing it. And that wasn't good. He had to get himself under control, and he simply seemed unable to do it. But he had to try harder!

_What?_ Harry felt that Malfoy was confused. Finally, he was starting to mirror his own emotions, was starting to comprehend how complicated the situation really was. _How…where are you, then?_

_In a room. But I have no idea where it is. I just woke up here._ He was reluctant to give more information, but he felt the Slytherin's curiosity and suspicion on the other side. The blonde was not stupid. A moron maybe, but not stupid.

_I _saw_ you. _Malfoy argued. _I'm certain you're here in Hogwarts. _He seemed to think for a moment. _Can't it be that you're dreaming or something?_

Harry was surprised. That…actually made sense. It was possible. The way this room was so…undefined, the way the torches were so unreal, the way all the clutter was non-descript. It was as if the entire space and everything in it would be forgotten the minute he didn't see it anymore. And when he really focused his eyes on something, like a closet or a dusty old shelf, the object seemed to blur, like a pixellated muggle picture.

Add to that that he wasn't feeling sleepy, despite having been awake for Merlin knows how long, wasn't thirsty or hungry or feeling any physical needs at all, and that time felt strangely stretched sometimes, and short other times.

In short, everything had such an unreal quality that it really was surprising he hadn't thought of it before. Only one thing didn't fit: Voldemort.

Everything seemed unreal, except Voldemort. Harry had dreamt of the real Dark Lord, had _been_ him, inside his mind. And he knew that this was the real one. The way the eyes watched him, the way he talked to Harry and seemed to slowly and gradually pull him into his twisted ways of thinking. That part could not be a dream.

Unless the real Voldemort had intruded into his dream, into his mind. Was Harry still being possessed? It didn't feel like it. The excruciating pain from before, when he'd been melted into the creature with the red eyes, wasn't there.

There was no answer. There was no way out of his thoughts. However he twisted and turned things, it did not fit.

_Potter?_

Harry snapped out of his thoughts, paying attention to the other one's. Malfoy sounded somewhat…different this time. Abnormally non-hostile.

Malfoy sensed he had the dark-haired one's attention without needing a response. They were both starting to get more familiar with each other's 'voices'. _What else is in that room? You're having five panic attacks a minute. It can't be just a room._

The feeling behind the words was too entangled and too hidden for Harry to make sense of it, so he didn't try. But he was reluctant to give an answer. Malfoy could sense that there was something he was scared of in the room, but as long as Harry did not express it in words, he could not know exactly what it was.

Could he tell him? No, he couldn't trust him. But if he was the only contact he had, he would have to tell him at some point, so he could carry the message through to Dumbledore, or someone from the Order. Someone who would understand and know what to do.

_Voldemort's here._ Harry responded grimly. He felt the blonde cringe again at the name.

_The Dark Lord? How…but…_

The new surge of feelings and vague thoughts from the Slytherin was even more impossible to comprehend for the dark-haired teenager. There was a mix of seemingly everything in there. What he _could_ decipher from it was the obvious confusion at how Harry could possibly be on one room with Voldemort and not be dead yet, or attacked, or in the middle of a deadly duel. How could it be that he was chatting with Malfoy instead?

Well, how could he explain?

_This place is…I don't know. I don't understand any of it. _He tried anyway. _We tried to attack each other at first but…there's no magic. I don't have my wand, and he doesn't have his. I'm not entirely sure, but it seems like he can't do any magic either._

_What? So you're just stuck like two muggles? In one room? _The blonde seemed disgusted at the thought of being forced to behave like a muggle, and incredulous at the idea of the _Dark Lord_ being forced to do without his immense magical knowledge and power.

_It looks like it. _Harry confirmed.

_Can't you get out?_

_There's no windows, no doors, no trap-doors, no secret passages that I could find…there's nothing. _Harry gave a short description of the place, and threw a nervous glance around himself when he said that Voldemort must be somewhere among the chaos of old and crumbling objects and rubble.

Alarm spread to Harry's senses when he felt something emanating from the blonde's side. It was a kind of grim determination, as if Malfoy was deciding to do something he didn't want to do, but felt that it was his duty to do. There was guilt in there, and uncertainty, but nevertheless, determination to do whatever task it was. And to Harry it was an ominous sign.

_Malfoy?_

The young wizard got an even worse feeling when he realised the Slytherin had closed off his mind again, as if he didn't want Harry to feel what he was doing, as if he was afraid he would interfere, or try to stop him.

_Malfoy? Malfoy, what are you doing? Malfoy!_

Nothing. It was like a wall had risen in between them. He could only sense that determination coming into his side, but he couldn't get through to the other side. Not with his words.

That rush, that breeze, that black breath accompanied by that hoarse sound came upon him again, and he sprang to his feet. Malfoy was immediately thrown off his mind, Voldemort becoming his main issue again. He was making a move.

There was just enough time for him to turn around and see a whirl of black robes rush towards him before a white-fingered hand shot out and clasped around his throat again, and in another half-second he was crushed against the hard stone floor, the back of his head throbbing with the fourth hit it received since he'd woken up in the room.

Harry kicked and scratched and threw his fists at any part of Voldemort he could reach. The pale face of Tom Riddle grimaced with the effort of keeping the teenager down. He wasn't used to having to struggle against any enemy and this was just as humiliating as the first time.

"Stay still, Harry!" He commanded in the same voice Harry had heard him use to direct his death eaters. The authority in it was frightening. "I'm not trying to kill you." The vicious tone he used as he said it was not at all reassuring, as if he was extremely put off by the fact that he had to let the boy live.

_Which is certainly the case. _Harry thought. But it was true that the pressure on his throat wasn't so hard this time that he couldn't breathe. He could even speak.

"Don't touch me!" Harry snapped. He couldn't help but think back at all the previous times Voldemort had touched him: through Quirrell in first year, and then that horrible night in the cemetery in fourth year. And that same hand was the one that had killed his father, killed his mother while he heard her screaming. That same sound he'd heard when he'd first dealt with dementors.

"Will you listen to me!" Tom Riddle raged. "I'm trying to make you see your mistakes here, Harry. You've been corrupted to the core by Albus Dumbledore while you think he's protecting you. But I can make you see the truth, I can give you the power to think for yourself. I can _free_ you, Harry. A freedom and power you've never even dreamt of. Open your mind a little, and you'll know what I'm talking about."

Harry stopped struggling. It was no use. And the words…they were intriguing. What did he mean by the truth? Dumbledore _had_ been extremely secretive. And everyone else had kept him out of the Order, telling him he shouldn't know… What truth? What was hidden?

The power? Those eyes had power in them. Those eyes above him who were as dark and monstrous as any could ever be, who could have murdered him right there just by their gaze. But they were entrancing, they were inviting, they were deep and dark, they were…

* * *

Hello to everyone out there. Casual visitors, or fellow fanfictioners, readers who already know me, or who don't, users who are logged in, or users who aren't. All Welcome! And even more welcome to leave a little review 'en passant' ;-)

This is a longer chapter. Sorry that the others were a little short. I just wasn't sure if this was worth continuing...

So, I had one question from **thebellowingpixie** about the pairing in this story. The main couple is HarryxDraco (my personal favourite), but Tom Riddle will also be included in a rather complicated way. It's still a vague idea in my head, so I have to write it out for myself to even make sense of it, but just so you know: the romance tag is for all three of them. Not a threesome, more of a love triangle. You'll see. ;)

Thanks for all the future reviews. (I'll thank in advance for a change.)


	4. Chapter 3

**A/n: **Thank you for the response so far. I'm hoping to get more :)

* * *

**Chapter 3.**

**Drop Dead**

The back of Harry's head was throbbing painfully where it had consecutively hit the wall, a bookshelf, a chest and now the floor; the ache resonating through his skull. It worked in Voldemort's favour as it helped to intoxicate and daze the teenager's mind, to pull it into Tom Riddle's words, into his intruding and malevolent eyes.

Harry squirmed and moaned, the hand around his throat was pressing uncomfortably, and he felt a weakness start from his legs and spreading towards his arms and body. It felt like paralysis.

The Dark Lord leaned back a little, seeing as his opponent was sufficiently calmed down, it was better to let him breathe a little. He wanted him conscious enough to listen to him, but not alert enough to be able to oppose the thoughts he was trying to insinuate in the impressionable young boy.

Children had always been extremely easy targets for Tom, even when he had been a child himself. Such joy and elation he felt whenever he could see how every one of the syllables he spoke, and every different intonation he used, slightly changed the expression on people's faces as they listened. And then Tom could choose if he put a little more force in his gaze, or a bit more flattery or flirtatiousness. Those three F's were the things humans and wizards alike responded to the most, or at least, to which the response was the easiest to anticipate.

In more than sixty years of life, Tom Riddle had collected more knowledge about dark and 'taboo' magic than any other wizard before him; and with that long search and refinement of his skills, and the isolation that his near-death fourteen years earlier had caused, he had somewhat forgotten the initial set of skills he had used to influence the people around him, and bend the world to his will, before Dumbledore came to is orphanage to tell him he would be attending Hogwarts.

The forceful approach had been his standard one for many years now with his loyal Death Eaters. Absolute control was necessary, and for that he used his favourite weapon: _fear_. They feared the powers unknown to them that he had at his disposal. The powers that no one had dared to explore and extract out of the gloomy cages and underground caves that they had been buried in since their discoveries.

_He_ had dared, and he had braved it all. He'd had the courage to put an end to his disgraceful roots, to eradicate his shameful past and erect an ideology for pureness and power, for grace and intellect. He would create a world where the elite finally reclaimed the honour and devotion they deserved, and he would be the most powerful of all: the immortal one.

But, yeah, there was a little kink in Mr. Voldy's delusions: a certain little one named Potter who sneaked into his grand daydreams and plans and managed to shatter them _every_ time.

Not this time. Tom Riddle had always been brilliant, and in his process towards becoming Lord Voldemort, he had used his powerful intellect. Lord Voldemort knew exactly what was going on, and consequently was perfectly aware of what he had to do to win _this_ battle, and eventually the war.

In the meantime, the 'error' that always occurred, the obstacle that always came in the way, the inconvenience that went by the name of Harry James Potter was still sinking, still sinking further down into a world of 'what if's.

As the Dark Lord told him of what could be his if they joined forces, if Harry let go of all his worries and duties as the boy-who-lived and simply did what he _wanted_ to do, enjoying the freedom that he had a _right_ to, the boy found himself wondering what if Hagrid hadn't come to get him at the Dursleys for the first time? What if it had been someone else who never told him of Voldemort? What if he'd never met Ron on the train and had shaken hands with Malfoy?

What if he hadn't known what kind of house Slytherin was, and he'd never begged the Sorting Hat _not_ to put him in the house of silver and green? Would he have gone to Slytherin instead of Gryffindor? And how would he have turned out after five years among them?

Voldemort's eyes were fixated on his and they seemed to know what he was thinking and, silently, they whispered to him: _you would've been happier, because you wouldn't need to feel guilty to do something for yourself. _

If he'd been in Slytherin, he wouldn't have been forced to make so many sacrifices for the sake of others. He wouldn't have had to save the philosopher's stone from being stolen, he wouldn't have had to save Ginny and the school's mudbloods by killing the basilisk, he wouldn't have let Diggory take that bloody trophy with him, he would've kept it for himself and then… then…

Then he wouldn't have died.

In the space of a second the house of cards of darkness and corruption that Voldemort had steadily been building up in him collapsed, sending all the bits and pieces flying from their foundations, and the teenager came back to his senses.

_What was I thinking!_ Harry realized with a jolt. Cedric Diggory was a sacrifice he'd made, Sirius was a sacrifice he'd made, and his parents, and so many more that he didn't know. But they weren't just sacrifices. They had been _murdered_. And the man leaning over him at that precise moment was directly responsible for every single one of them, whether he had been the one to speak the killer curse or not.

And Voldemort kept talking about what Harry had been missing all these years, how wonderful and free he would feel when he would finally break loose from all the slow and unworthy who were holding him back. And he kept saying 'Harry' with that poisonous tongue.

It sent the teenager over the edge.

"STOP SAYING MY NAME!" He screamed. And in his rage a surge of energy flooded through him. He arched his back to push himself off the dirty stone floor and the next thing he knew, _he_ was on top of the dark, twisted man, gripping his throat with both hands.

Harry had to hold back not to choke his enemy and not to yell when he spoke. "You _filthy thing_ that you are who murdered countless people for nothing more than your own little egocentric follies! And you try to make me believe that being a part of that _pathetic _little herd of lapdogs whining and crawling at your feet would make me free? Of all things, you believe they're free? _You're_ not even free. Because you're just obsessed with your fucking narrow-minded ideas that you could never let go! Do you realise how sad you are? How empty your very existence? I'd rather _die_ than become a disgusting creature like you. Everyone with the least bit of sense would. So why don't you just give up and die already? Just drop dead, _Lord Voldemort_." Harry sneered the Dark Lord's self-proclaimed title, mocking him. All fear momentarily forgotten. He was only aware of the deep disgust he felt of the dark wizard and all pure-blood principles, and the fact that it had tried to insinuate itself into his head.

The dark-haired boy trembled with emotion, his hands becoming unsteady. It left an opening for the older man to throw him off, and promptly the teenager had been swept aside.

At least, he made sure not to let his head impact anything this time. It was hurting enough as it was. And he felt so very weary, it was as if energy was draining out of him at the rate of a raging waterfall. And he fell limply on his side, barely able to sit up.

Lord Voldemort, the wizard, was pleased. Intense emotion, feelings of passion, were the ways to someone's soul. It opened the doors wide, and with that sudden outburst from the young boy, it was clear that he was extremely vulnerable. Though he had already known that when he had managed to convince him that his dearly beloved godfather was being tortured inside the ministry by himself, when he was in fact still safely in his own home.

But Tom Riddle, the man, was astonished. No one before this young boy had been able to completely reverse the effects of his charisma and manipulation in a split second. Most had never even been able to resist, unless they ran away in fear. Harry Potter on the other hand had not only resisted, but retaliated with such force, such fearlessness (though it could also be named recklessness) and such conviction of his own righteousness that it was nothing short of unique.

The Dark Lord was impressed. He had seen how Harry had been giving in, following his thoughts, following the way of temptation, and then one single thought had seemed to throw everything around, and that thought had given him such strength that it had allowed him to gain the upper hand, even if for just a short moment.

But there was one last thing, one last element that Tom Riddle did not want to admit, because it was something that he had not felt in a very long time, and a feeling that he _thought_ he had banished from his mind forever: he was ashamed. Not just humiliated, but ashamed. The feeling was not just inflicted upon him, it was a recognition that came from within him. Because what Harry had said rang with clarity and preciseness, and it resonated through him as something that could not be denied, only repressed.

And so that was what he did. The boy and the dark wizard sat in silence, keeping their thoughts for themselves, eyeing each other warily in case another attack came that needed to be averted.

_Malfoy!_

Time. How much time had passed already? Had it been hours, days or weeks?

No it couldn't have been weeks. Harry was still sitting on the floor, facing Voldemort. Their fight couldn't have been that long ago, and still, it _felt_ like a long time. Maybe because Harry was still trying to contact the Slytherin; a repetitive attempt that appeared to be a futile effort.

But then, after so many tries that it had began to feel like a meditation mantra, a change occurred. Harry could feel that the blonde was suffering from acute surprise, or shock. It was difficult to say whether it was a positive emotion or a negative one. There was relief in the Slytherin's mood, but also a deep betrayal. It was too complicated to comprehend. The only thing he could be certain of, was that Draco Malfoy had gotten some very unexpected news, or event, and felt both relieved and angry at being betrayed.

Not long after that surge of emotion, the blonde's thoughts called out to him rather reluctantly, or even tentatively. It was gentle and careful. Which felt good because Harry wasn't sure if he could've handled the harsh tones and snide remarks. The longer he stayed in that room in the company of a manipulative madman whose behaviour shifted unexpectedly, the more it felt like his soul was being stripped and bared, his mind jumbled and raw, hypersensitive to every little thing.

Added to that he also felt completely disconnected. But disconnected from what? What did the outside world even look like? He couldn't remember. That was probably the very reason why he felt disconnected from it.

Was this what insanity felt like? Not being able to remember reality, not being able to perceive it, feeling like every movement, every noise and every look was hostile and a threat.

_Potter?_

Harry simply grunted at first. Voldemort looked up then, fixing his eyes upon him. So the teenager turned away and put his head between his knees to keep his expressions private, all the while keeping his ears open for any threat to him.

_Potter!_ The 'other' came again in his mind, becoming slightly more insistent.

_What?_ Harry snapped back. Everything hurt, everything was so sensitive. Each thought intruding his head from outside himself felt like a hammer banging on the door of the cupboard he used to sleep in at the Durselys.

_Someone wants to talk to you._ Malfoy told him grudgingly. He didn't sound happy about it. It sounded like he hadn't expected this development. It was in all likelihood related to the sense of betrayal.

Those words sent something sparking through Harry that he hadn't felt in a long while. He had _hope_. Was it Hermione? Ron? Were they all right?

The Slytherin felt the question in his mood and responded. _No, it's not your friends._ Surprisingly, he didn't add a derogative comment to that. _It's professor Snape._

Harry had difficulty forming coherent thoughts to send out as words. But the blonde seemed to feel his confusion, disappointment, outrage and protest anyway.

_He insists to talk to you. Through me, of course. He wants to know whether…_

But before Malfoy could finish his phrase, Harry responded with more force and determination. _No!_ He affirmed. Snape was an enemy. Snape had allowed Sirius to be killed. Whatever Dumbledore and the Order thought of him, the events of the previous days had proven the potions master was not on Harry's side.

There was a pause during which it seemed that the Slytherin's attention was elsewhere, interacting with the real world instead of the voice in his head.

_He says you should stop being a drama queen._ Malfoy said after a lengthy five minutes. It sounded neutral. He was simply relaying the message that had been given him.

_The thing you wanted to do before for which you blocked me out… you went to rat me out to Snape, didn't you?_ Harry accused, finally dredging up the energy to fight back. _And now he wants to save his precious Dark Lord, and make me rot here for eternity._ The hope that had flooded him before had completely disappeared.

There was no answer to this. And that could only mean one thing: yes. Draco Malfoy had gone to see Severus Snape, the friend of the Malfoy family, a man bearing the Dark Mark, to inform him of the Dark Lord's situation and try to get him out of it.

Meanwhile, Harry had no one who knew of his predicament, and who would come to his help. His prospects dimming with every passing second, he began to slowly accept that he would never see his friends again.

_He says he's going to help you._ Came Malfoy's answer.

Harry wanted to snort, but managed to refrain from making a sound. His face was still hidden between his knees, but that didn't mean the Dark Lord wasn't paying attention to what he was doing.

_Potter!_ The 'other' spoke with irritation. _…Harry._

This caught the dark-haired one's attention. When in the world had the blonde pure-blood ever called him by his first name? If he ever had, he couldn't remember. It was surprisingly pleasant to hear someone other than the Dark Lord's black tongue speak it. Even if it was Malfoy. It pulled him back to reality just a little bit, gave him back some sanity.

_He wants to know about his precious Dark Lord, doesn't he?_ He fumed against the Slytherin. _He'll pretend to be on my side, like he did for the Order, and then when I need him the most…_ Harry interrupted himself abruptly, realising he'd made a mistake. The Malfoy heir, the son of a prominent Death Eater was not aware of the Order (or so Harry presumed, surely Malfoy was too young to be pulled into the battle, just like he himself had been excluded), and certainly not of the fact that Snape might have been a part of it, even if he was a spy for the dark side. Had he just given away precious intelligence?

_I know. _Malfoy said when he sensed the dark-haired one's agitation, and the cause of it. _I know whose side my godfather is on now, on whose side he's been all along. It's revolting. _Disgust layered each on e of the words, as if he were discussing the most repulsive of insects. _And he wants to talk to you to help you, not the Dark Lord._

No. Too many things were wrong with this. _Why would you help him help me if you're so disgusted, if you're loyal to your family and consequently the Dark Lord?_ Harry challenged.

There it was: a flare or relief. Malfoy couldn't hide a certain form of 'happiness' at having found out about his godfather's allegiance. But Harry didn't know what to make of it. He had to admit that he knew, in fact, very little about the blonde Slytherin, his family, his past, and his private life.

_I have my reasons, Potter, and they're none of your business! It's not because you enjoy raping my mind that I'm going to lay everything out for you!_

Harry thought Malfoy was being a little bit overdramatic this time, but strangely, he did believe what he said. Conversing with someone through thoughts was fundamentally different from conversing with sounds, because the whole array of emotions was also there to be read, as if part of the language. Lying would be extremely difficult, and easily detected. Harry could determine with confidence that Malfoy was not lying, that he had genuine reasons, and thus clear intentions to _help_ him, no matter where his allegiance lay. Just in this case anyway. Maybe they thought that if they could use Harry to save their Dark Lord?

At least he had his first ally. Not one he would have expected, and not one he thought he could have gained in this way (he didn't think he'd done anything to make it happen), but nonetheless, it was an ally. And Draco had helped him already, albeit unknowingly, when he'd pulled the dark-haired teen from his deep dark spirals of sadness and temptation, or by connecting him back to reality.

_And how in the world did you find out about this?_ Harry wondered, now more curious than suspicious.

_He told me. Are you going to listen to what he has to say now?_ The blonde asked impatiently.

Well, what could it hurt to at least listen? _Yes._ He answered.

There was a pause during which Snape probably said to his godson what message he wanted him to pass on. Then Malfoy spoke again. _He wants to know how the Dark Lord looks._

Harry choked on the bit of air he'd just been inhaling, and managed to turn it into a cough, so as not to arouse suspicion from the dark wizard himself, who was silently seated on the stone floor just a few metres away. This was the best proof Snape could have given him that he was only interested in his master's well-being, and not Harry's. It was almost _too_ obvious.

_There is a reason for the question, Potter! _Malfoy added hastily. _And it's to help you, not him._

_You expect me to believe that?_ Harry was incredulous. But he sensed from Draco that he had complete faith in Snape's claims. Which was strange, considering that he had just been betrayed by him! His trust should've been hopelessly shattered…

_Believe what you want. Answer the question and hear me out._

Harry sighed and shifted his position. His backside was aching from the cold and roughness of the surface he was sitting on. He wondered whether Voldemort was experiencing the same discomfort. Looking up, he tried to inconspicuously observe the dark wizard, enveloped by his robes, his posture stiff and arrogant, alert and ominous.

_Voldemort looks like Voldemort. He's…not so scary now that he's apparently powerless, but he still looks as scary as he did before, just as threatening and self-assured._ It was the best description Harry could think of.

There was a longer silence while the message was passed on, and the answer analyzed or debated on the other side. It was a little like talking on the phone and waiting while the person on the other side of the line finished a conversation with someone who was in the room with him or her.

_What does the room look like?_

Many questions of the kind followed, and Harry tried to make up as accurate a picture as possible as he told Malfoy about the haziness and dream-like quality of the place. Then about his own condition and lack of hunger or thirst and other basic needs.

After a while of this Harry began to tire of the questions and wondered whether he would actually get some answers in return. _Where is Dumbledore? Can I talk to him?_ He asked. If Snape _was_ on his side, then that shouldn't be a problem.

_Dumbledore is away, he says._ The blonde responded in the same neutral tone he'd been using all the way through the dialogue between the potions master and Harry.

_Where?_ But Malfoy refused to answer. It didn't look like he knew either. _What about the other who were with me at the ministry? Some of them were seriously injured! I want to know what happened to them!_ His patience was running out.

_They're being treated at St-Mungo's and will be returning to Hogwarts soon. _

_Hogwarts…that's where I, or my body anyway, supposedly is at the moment?_

_Yes._

_Well?_ Harry insisted when he got no answer. _Does Snape know how I can be in two places at once, or whether I'm in some kind of dream or…_

_You're not in two places, and you're not dreaming. But it's something similar to a dream in the sense that you are in your mind. _

This made Harry feel very weird about his body. It felt so real, he felt pain, he felt weary, and he felt very conscious. But…_I'm not real? I mean, the place where I am, it's not a physical place?_

_He says it isn't._

_Is Voldemort real?_

_Yes._

_How come he's here with me, if I'm in my mind, or my dream or whatever it is? Is he possessing me? Am I possessing him? _Or was it that he was sharing a mind with the dark wizard once again, as he had done many nights in the last year. But he didn't want to say that. Snape would mock him again for his failure at Occlumency.

There was a pause. It lasted five minutes, then ten…and still no answer came.

_Malfoy?_ He prompted when his patience ran out. _What is he saying?_

_He's gone._ The blonde replied, incredulity now tinting his words instead of the neutral tone.

_What do you mean, he's gone! Where? Did he answer my question?_

_No! Merlin, stop nagging me, Potter! He just walked away. What did you expect me to do? Drag him back?_

_YES! _Harry just couldn't believe this. Snape hadn't helped one bit! He hadn't told him much, and now the result was that he understood even less about what was going on. He didn't even know where Dumbledore was and what he was doing. The only relief was that his friends seemed safe. And even in that aspect, Snape might just have lied so that Harry would give the answers he wanted without trouble. _You could have done something! You CAN do something! _

_Oh, so now that you managed to get yourself into yet another debacle I suddenly have to do everything for you? What do you take me for? A bloody knight in bloody shining armour?_

Harry wanted to scream in frustration. He could not recall one instance in his entire life when he had been more powerless than now, and when he had felt less in control of his mind, of his sense of reality, and of right and wrong…

* * *

So, things are starting to happen to Harry's mind...Will he be able to stay sane? And what's happening to Lord Voldemort in the meantime? How do you guys see his personality?

In general, I write more psychological developments than I do action. I realize it might come across as boring to many. I am fascinated with the mind, and with its complexity. Though I'm afraid what I write may be confusing and hard to follow as a result of it. :s

But I hope this story can still catch your attention. If you like it, you could oblige me with a note or some encouragement. The most fun is to know what you thought of it, which parts you liked, which you didn't, or whether you think there are some inconsistencies or problems...


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

**He Knows**

"Ah yes, your mother." A low chuckle escaped Lord Voldemort's throat as he mused aloud. "A striking woman, I have to admit, but then again, those are most often foolish. Distasteful witches are foolish too, but they're mentally incapable on top of that." Harry noticed Voldemort was excluding muggle women, as if they weren't even worth it to be taken into account.

At least an hour. That was how long the Dark Lord had been talking. First he'd just been muttering to himself, then he'd started speaking louder. Harry hadn't been able to follow half of what he'd said. He wasn't sure whether it was because Voldemort was smarter, or because he'd lost his marbles.

But lots of people said the same about Dumbledore, that he was brilliant but crazy, and that had never held him back from being ahead of everyone and making incredible things happen. Really, genius was a potent and highly dangerous mixture of intelligence and lunacy.

"I told the woman to let you go. I was generous enough, despite her having hidden you from me, to let her live if she paid for her mistake and gave you up."

Harry was fuming inside. Yes, he'd told himself _over_ and _over_ again to not let his emotions run away with him, to keep control, to keep calm, to stay rational and alert. But it was his _mother_ Voldemort was talking about. His mother…

An unidentified sound that Harry had never heard in his life came from his own mouth. It made the dark wizard's eyes flicker to him momentarily, before he stared back at the wall again with an undecipherable expression.

The younger wizard tried to mimic that expression, to be impassable, to be untouchable behind a protective shield of neutrality. He stared in the opposite direction and waited.

He wasn't sure for what though. Probably several things. And what else could he do? He'd already tried to find a physical way out, like a door or secret passage, but there was none. He'd already tried a magical way out, but he had not an ounce of power in him. He'd tried to yell out at Malfoy, but the Slytherin didn't talk to him if he didn't wish to, and if Harry yelled too much, he just got yelled back at and his mind was really too roughed up to be able to take much of that. Mind yelling was much more invasive than actual yelling.

He'd also tried waking up; seeing as his _body_ was, according to both Malfoy and Snape at least, in Hogwarts' hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey. If he was dreaming, he could've woken up. But that didn't work. So then he'd started to consider whether he might be in a coma.

It wasn't a cheering thought.

Still, that didn't explain why in the world _Voldemort_ was still in his head! Had he been trapped there when he'd possessed Harry? Could that happen? Maybe if Harry's mind shut down from the strain?

"Harry." The teenager's head snapped back towards the Dark Lord. He had _told_ him to stop saying his name! "Don't you think mothers, and fathers for that matter, are useless? I don't understand why the woman even bothered to save you. She knew I would kill both of you if she did. Besides, as a mudblood she should've known her place. And I _tried_ to explain it to her, but she wouldn't listen." Voldemort spoke as if he was exasperated by a slow student he'd been trying to teach.

"Her name was _Lily_!" Harry spat venomously. The Dark Lord looked at him questioningly, as if unable to figure out why in the world this brat had volunteered this useless bit of information. "Don't you dare call her a mudblood." That same brat threatened.

The Dark Lord looked amused. "Or what? What do you think you can do, _Harry Potter_?" He sneered the name. "What can you do without Dumbledore there to pull the strings?"

"The same I did in the graveyard." He returned swiftly. "And with the philosopher's stone and in the Chamber of Secrets."

"You went in the chamber?" The Dark Lord wondered, unimpressed by Harry's comeback. "Yes…" He answered his own question. "I do recall someone telling me about it. You destroyed something of mine that day after all."

Harry wasn't sure whether Voldemort was talking about the Basilisk or the diary. He'd never really understood what kind of magic that diary had been either. It was one of those things Voldemort was simply too advanced in for him to be able to compete on the same level. And it was…frustrating…infuriating.

"I'll do it again if I can." He decided to say. It wouldn't betray his ignorance.

"A foolish thing to say. Again. You're quite like your mother, I see. Though your father and most of that ridiculous Order Dumbledore deemed necessary to put together had the same trait. Foolish blood traitors most of them. You fit nicely. I wonder why Dumbledore didn't let you join." He added cruelly.

Harry was _certain_ he had hit that sore spot on purpose. It made him furious to think of how he'd been excluded from everything even when it was _to_ him that things were happening. And Voldemort must have seen how he got worked up about it. It was obvious Voldemort was trying to manipulate and provoke him. And that was exactly why Harry needed to _get a grip_. But he didn't know how.

How do you control such…such _hate_? Have you ever experienced that feeling? Like you want to reach into someone's gut and rip out his insides? Just looking at them makes your head swim and you can't think of anything else but the horrible things they did to you.

"I have to congratulate you, Harry." The boy cringed at the sound of his name. Voldemort just kept saying it on purpose, he knew. "You've learned to keep quiet. Not talking is always the best option for people like you."

And what was _that_ supposed to mean?

_No! No no no. I'm not going to let myself get trapped. He's trying to confuse me or anger me. I have to control myself. I have to shut off my emotions and empty my head of all thought. _Harry repeated to himself as he recalled Snape's instructions during their disastrous Occlumency lessons.

"And it means you're listening to me. Good boy that you are." The Dark Lord mocked him. "If your father had been here, he might not have been proud, but he should have."

Oh no. Now he was attacking his father. Harry gritted his teeth in a desperate attempt to keep from shouting.

"Fathers rarely recognize their son's accomplishments. Mine was the same, mind you. He wasn't even impressed that I was able to frame my uncle for his murder."

Harry frowned at that. Did Voldemort just say that he'd… Well, he _had _mentioned Tom Riddle Senior in the graveyard a year ago. But he was able to just talk about like it was the most natural thing. And he didn't even flinch when he said he framed another family member. Was this uncle still in Azkaban for something he hadn't done? If he was, something needed to be done about it. Harry couldn't just sit on this information he'd just gotten.

"You're…" Harry attempted rather breathlessly, but he didn't have the strength to find a fitting adjective to describe the…creature sitting a few metres from him. In the end he just shook his head.

Voldemort chuckled. He was the only one who could be amused by such a conversation topic.

"I guess I have to admire how relentless you are. Sometimes stubbornness can get you somewhere, but never far enough."

Harry was tired of the cryptic language, obnoxious comments and provocative advice. It was wearing him out even further.

When was Draco coming back? He'd said he was going to help, but Harry hadn't heard from him in a while. What was he doing? What was happening in the world out there in the meantime? Malfoy had mentioned that Fudge was in trouble. He kind of had that coming when he allowed Lord Voldemort and his little gang right into the ministry _and_ the Department of Mysteries.

But other than that, Harry knew next to nothing. Waiting without knowing, without knowing what it is you're waiting for, and no one telling you anything, and with an arrogant and unstable lunatic right next to you…what kind of torture was that? Who could bear such a thing and stay sane?

Harry wanted to scream. He had been for a while now. He wanted to roll around on the floor and hit his fists on the floor the way he'd seen Dudley do every single birthday. He was losing his mind and he was tired of trying to hide it. He couldn't even let himself moan or sigh for God's sake! How was Voldemort bearing this? How could he still be talking and thinking and spitting his poison all over the place?

_He's already done this._ Harry remembered the fact that Voldemort had been thought dead for thirteen years, had been forced to live in animals or leeching off of other people's bodies, like Professor Quirrel. His mind had probably been trapped in bodies he couldn't control. Maybe it had been similar to this.

But at least he'd been _alone_. And he'd been in contact with the world, even interacting with it. Despite any possible similarities, those were big differences.

What is Voldemort thinking? He's certainly planning something. What's he trying to do with his talking? Is he wearing me out with his talking on purpose?

* * *

_Potter?_

_What? You're talking to me again, now?_ Harry sneered.

_I'm doing you a bloody favour, so shut it._ Malfoy retorted. _Someone wants to talk to you._

_Tell Snape to sod off. _Harry drawled. The potions master had been fucking useless. _I won't help him save his master._

_You're such an idiot._ Harry was really getting tired of being called names. _It's not Severus. It's your mudblood buddy._

Harry almost growled aloud. After the insults to his mother before, he really couldn't take much more from Draco. But he was also thrilled beyond comprehension. Hermione! Hermione was there, finally! She had to know something about this whole thing.

_Ho ho, Potter! Easy on the euphoria. What did I say about emotional outbursts. Can you stay calm for five effing minutes?_

_Am I disturbing your peaceful little delusions, Malfoy? _Harry sneered.

_As a matter of fact, you are. I already said I'd help you, but I don't want to be inconvenienced more than necessary._

It was almost humorous to the Gryffindor. Draco was complaining about his peace of mind? _I'm curious how he'd cope in my place right now._ He thought bitterly to himself.

_I'd never be stupid enough to get into such situation to begin with._ The Slytherin replied. Of course he'd heard. _And by the way, there's an annoying bundle of hair in my face getting impatient to talk to you._

_Then talk! _He almost shouted.

_When you say 'please'. I don't like to be ordered around. _The blonde said stiffly.

Harry moaned in exasperation and frustration. He couldn't help himself this time. Voldemort noticed of course, though he made no sign he'd heard it.

But the Gryffindor said 'please' for he had no choice. He was in a very difficult situation, and he'd decided he would try and be mature and diplomatic with his enemy. Pride and stubbornness _really_ wouldn't be helpful.

Malfoy's voice came in that neutral tone again he used to speak someone else's words. _Are you in pain?_

_What? N-no. Is she in pain? Is she all right? And the others? How are they doing?_

_Merlin! Potter! One question at a time!_

The dialogue was long and difficult and suffered many interruptions. But after some time Harry was able to establish that Hermione had been released from St-Mungo's after two days (yes, two whole days had already passed!) and come back to Hogwarts, and Ron would soon follow, though he would need more care from Madam Pomfrey for the burns the brain tentacles had left on his arms.

The others had been less badly hurt and were already back in their dormitories. That was a relief! It was already bad enough that Sirius…that he…

_Potter?_ The blonde probed when he felt the sudden twinge of distress.

_What?_ Harry asked aggressively. What insult would he get this time? Couldn't he just leave him alone!

No words came, no thoughts. But there was a…warm…and rather sharp…sort of feeling emanating from Draco. It was…how could he call it…like…concern?

That couldn't be right. His radar must be broken, Harry concluded.

_Will you stop shaking me with your filthy mudblood fingers!_

Harry was startled out of his confusion, only to be dipped in more confusion. _Huh?_

_I wasn't talking to you, Ha…Potter._ Draco explained hastily. _Bleeding Barmies, is she always like this?_

Harry had the sense to realise he was talking about Hermione, but he had no idea what was going on. He could only follow with half a mind, he always had to keep an eye on the deadly maniac in the room.

"You're particularly silent, Harry." The said maniac suddenly began while Draco was still repeating a question from Hermione in his head. Harry was confused for a moment, his mind was unsure about which it should pay attention to first.

"I have nothing to say to _someone like you_." He finally decided to respond to Voldemort first, using some of the Dark Lord's previous words against him.

Again, it amused the Lord. Was he amused with everything? Did he like this place, this situation? Did he want it? Had he caused it?

_No, that's what he wants me to think._ Harry suspected it was a kind of intimidation. Voldemort was trying to show him he was in control, unlike Harry.

_Are you even listening to me?_ Draco interrupted.

_Malfoy! Please! Just…don't…_

_What?_

But the Gryffindor didn't know what to say. He didn't want to tell him to 'shut up' because he still needed his help, and he wanted to keep talking to Hermione, even if it was difficult to do it through the blonde. So…what could he say?

_I'm tired._ It just flowed from his mind. He was too tired to hold back. His mind was too messed up.

_What? _

_I'm tired, Draco._

_But you told Severus you didn't need sleep._ The Slytherin spoke more carefully though. He was…gentler…and Harry was grateful. It was like feeling cool water on a burn. It was soothing to his raw mind.

_I'm not sleepy. I'm weary. I…_

But he caught himself just before he started to complain or beg the Slytherin for help. He wasn't _that_ desperate yet, was he?

_Harry._

That was unusual. Harry frowned and waited for the blonde to continue.

_Harry…I…well…are you all right?_ Draco spoke like he too had difficulty finding words, and holding back on emotions that threatened to take over him. But unlike Harry, the blonde managed to keep those emotions strictly hidden. How was it that he could do that so easily? It was so _hard_ for the Gryffindor!

Harry was quite taken aback by the question. All the more because of the way it was asked. That combination of warmth and sharpness he'd felt before and identified as concern was back. What was Draco concerned about? Was it linked with his deep-rooted anxiety for some equally unknown cause?

But then he understood where the question had come from. _Is Hermione asking?_

…_yes…_ There had been more hesitation than Harry had expected, but it was an answer all the same.

_Tell her I'm all right. We all survived the ministry, so I can survive this. Except for Sirius…He didn't… But don't tell her the thing about Sirius. Uh…tell…just tell her I'll be fine, okay?_

Harry half expected a complaint from Draco about his unclear instructions, but none came. Just a simple '_Okay_'.

Time passed slowly as he waited for Malfoy to talk to Hermione. All the while he was stuck staring at a dreary stone wall, or at a man deformed by darkness and hate.

"Well, Harry." Voldemort spoke again when he noticed that the young wizard's attention was fully on him again. _Stop saying my name!_ "You're so out of it sometimes. You didn't even listen to what I said."

_What? He talked to me? When?_ Harry panicked. Had he lost track of what was happening in the room while he was busy with Draco and Hermione?

"It's almost like you're talking to someone else." Lord Voldemort said with a curious glint in his gaze. It made him look oddly…human.

_He knows._ Voldemort wouldn't just say anything. He was a genius. Every syllable fit into his plans. _He knows I'm in contact with someone. Fuck, he knows!_

* * *

Hello fanfictioners! How are you all today?

I'd like to thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter. They were _very_ interesting to read.

I thought it was time that I post, so the chapter may not be so long, but I prefer to update more often in smaller pieces rather than let everyone wait for weeks while they forget everything about the story.

I hope the developments are to your liking :) I know _I_ like it, but it's always more fun when others do too. I love to share with you all, so don't hesitate to share your likes and dislikes with me in return! I'm wide open to all you have to say, and if you have critique or complaints I'm always eager to engage in a discussion about it :)


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